


Turn Everything On Its Head

by howlingstiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence/Kidnapping, Alpha Chris Argent, Alpha Peter Hale, Blood and Gore, Depersonalization, Dissociation, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, M/M, Magic Stilinski Family, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmates, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stilinski Family Feels, Taboo, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, Werewolf Chris Argent, Witch Sheriff Stilisnki, Witch Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlingstiles/pseuds/howlingstiles
Summary: Peter huffed a laugh at his gobsmacked expression. Sweeping a hand and moving aside he said, “After you.” Stiles was dumbfounded enough to let the wolf at his back. Halfway down the path he shook his head and told himself to get a grip. He has people to protect and his dad is relying on him, he mentally put on his big boy pants. He pushed the tape out of his way.Time to work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The dissociation and depersonalization tags aren't disorders, though they can seem that way. Stiles can do these things from strong connections with people and emotions. It isn't said, but he's been able to do these things for years, only recently in his life are they disturbing or graphic. Special thanks to everyone encouraging me to write the fic.

“ _ Your Dad never told you what was happening _ ?” Scott sputtered out around his gulp of Pepsi, making a mess on the table, and gaped at him while Stiles groaned and thumped his head on the diner’s table. Scott wasn’t the only one in shock and mildly not-so-mildly irritated over his dad’s actions. Though Stiles can understand, last time something serious came to town Stiles was almost courted off as some ‘bride’ to the nemeton.    
  
Needless to say, Stiles is never going to help anyone with their groceries ever again, whether he knows them or not, and it’s a good thing he wasn’t a virgin beforehand. He will forever be grateful to a smug bastard. Apparently, Noah has been withholding the fact people are being murdered once again and he’s only just now being told about it since he’s officially home before he chooses a college and available to clean up the mess.    
  
He really needs to think about convincing Noah to leave this town. Stiles gets it’s hard to leave the place where a loved one has died and is buried, especially if it’s your dead wife that tried to kill your son a concerning amount of times but have some self-preservation. You’re a cop, aren’t you supposed to have some or is it all self-sacrifice? They have enough trouble from their heritage and people thinking they could hit the high life with the Stilinski’s at their side as it is. Or trying to murder him so they can be advisers, or get ‘otherworldly’ power. Fucking Druids and Darachs and Witches and Warlocks and everything else. At least Scott’s on his side because he genuinely likes him.    
  
Maybe.   
  
Stiles squints his eyes.   
  
He’s only gotten into town half an hour ago and all he wants to do is throw a temper tantrum, kill whatever is murdering civilians like a noble hero slaying a dragon, and sleep for five, maybe infinite, decades. In that the particular order. But no, he can’t do any of that since he’s a responsible adult and Noah came to him for help. Responsible help. He even pulled the Your my coven leader and I need your help card after not talking to him for three weeks. The asshole.    
  
At least he knows where he gets that personality trait from.   
  
Sometimes Stiles hates being the High Priest of the coven. Other times he’s glad, ecstatic even, that he’s relied on. That there’s people out there that trust Stiles to take care of them. To protect them like they will protect him.   
  
This isn’t one of those times.    
  
“Why did I come back to this shit? I already have an idea of what the gremlin is. He should too! I told him I left the bestiary at home. And he isn’t the only one that didn’t say shit!” Stiles moaned into the table. Scott shook his head, eyes still wide and filled with disbelief. He tapped the table insistently next to his head, Stiles frowned and looked up. Scott pointed to the side, other hand wiping napkins on the table to clean his mess. Stiles sat up when he saw their waitress, Darla his mom’s old co-worker and old babysitter, coming with their burgers and curly fries. Darla gives them a smile each when the plates are set, she ruffled Stiles’ hair and cooed about how long it was getting and how handsome he’s gotten. She laughed at his swatting and glaring at her, told them to enjoy their meal before walking to another table.   
  
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott’s half-hearted attempt to stifle a laugh behind his hand. “Not. A. Word.” Scott raises his hands up in surrender, lips twitching.   
  
It’s silent as they’re eating. Stiles trying to keep his mouth stuffed so he doesn’t have to talk, Scott trying to find a way to keep the topic going or find a different one. Stiles took this time to look at the dinner he’s been visiting since he was a kid and his mother worked here for extra cash.    
  
The red leather chairs have been updated though still have that old diner feel, the white-and-blue checkered table cloths are a little worse for wear with scribbles from bored children, the mahogany floorboards are popping up in some places. The bar wall has pictures on it of past and present workers, the diner’s friends and family with dedicated customers.    
  
A rueful smile spreads on Stiles’ lips when he sees one that’s been on the wall since he was five years old and missing his front tooth. Scott kicked his mouth with play wrestling, the outcome is self-explanatory. He’s sitting at the bar with his mom wrapped around him, tickling him to smile. She’s wearing her burgundy waitress uniform, hair a frizzy mane. His dad’s finger is at the top right edge. The picture is an unfocused mess, but it was the last one this diner ever got of his mother before she was emitted into the hospital. Before she lost her mind.   
  
Stiles looks away. He swallowed hard, attempting to rid the lump in his throat.   
  
Scott set his burger down after a few seconds of floundering and clasped his hands on the table. Stiles sighed, put his fork down that still had fries stuck to it, leaned back with a wave of his hand at Scott to start. “You know Dad’s just scared of you getting hurt, and you not getting to do what you want in life because you were put in this position years before you should’ve.” Scott sent him a sheepish smile when he flinched, it’s been eight years and it’s still a scabbing wound, “But dude, there isn’t anyone else that could lead a coven of five hundred people of all ages like you do. Sure you don’t see a lot of them, and your core members are leaders of their own covens, but you talk to them every other day to check in on them. I think Noah is finally realizing that, Stiles. That you aren’t really a kid anyone more, haven’t been for a long time. And that you’re gonna be moving away soon for college and maybe even moving away from Beacon Hills forever.”    
  
Scott paused and took a long drink from his Pepsi. “I don’t know where I’m going with this,” he continued after a burp, “but the bottom line is Dad wanted you to have a little freedom and fresh air from the past few months. You deserved that. And now that you’re back, you can deal with it. I’m on your side on this, but before we have a shit show of arguments we need to find whoever is doing this. You already know we thought Noah told you, it’s what he told us. He knows how to lie to werewolves Stiles, it’s pretty easy when it’s a newly born wolf. But, it should’ve been a red flag when you weren’t pounding on our doors in the middle of the night or constantly calling us.”    
  
Stiles pursed his lips at Scott. “I’m well aware why he didn’t tell me, Scott. I just wish he would’ve told me sooner. There would be a lot less dead bodies if I was informed. You not knowing that I didn’t know does not mean it stings less.” Scott had nothing to say to contradict that. They finished their meal intense silence. They left with hugs from Darla and a kiss mark marring their cheeks.    
  
Stiles laughed at Scott nearly burning himself with dry napkins in his haste to get it off in the car. He’ll admit, there are a few advantages of being a werewolf. He resigned himself to getting it off when he next showers. Halfway to dropping Scott off his phone vibrated out the cup holder and onto the floor.    
  
Scott dug it out from underneath the passenger seat and swiped the screen, he cleared his throat and put on the ‘I’m the Sheriff’ voice he’s been perfecting for years. “Meeting at the station. Alphas want to discuss the problem with us. Be there at eight. Don’t go the sleep you’ll just end up late.” Scott finished with a snicker. “I’ll admit, you really shouldn’t sleep yet, Stiles. It’s six am and knowing you, you are going to sleep like the dead.” Stiles pouted and snatch his phone back. A quick ‘Okay, thanks.’ was sent before the phone was stuffed into his flannel pocket. Scott’s house was the same. A little faded and window panels could be redone, but still nice. The bushes could use a little trimming.   
  
Scott got out before the jeep was fully parked. Werewolves. “Do you wanna come in and say hi to Mom? Or am I gonna pass it along and you’re gonna crash and almost miss the appointment?” His smile was teasing with eyes shining a faint gold in the night.    
  
Stiles grumbled before letting a clipped, “Second option, Scotty boy.” Paying no heed to the door still open he pulled out and headed home with Scott cackling at him from his driveway. He stuck his hand out and flipped him off until he was off the street. Why is everyone an asshole to him? He’s nice. Sometimes. To selective people. At times.    
  
When he got home his eyes were barely open in slivers. He’s surprised he didn’t crash into the tree that’s a little too close to the curb at the stop sign. He banged his knee into the doorframe of his room from trying to pull his pants and shirt off while walking. Out of his clothed prison, Stiles grumbled like an old man and thumped onto his bed with his phone charging and thirty alarms set for the meeting.    
  
Stiles had a feeling it wasn’t going to be enough. But he was too comfy in his cocoon of blankets and pillows to add ten more. A voice that sounded suspiciously of Scott telling him not to fall asleep didn’t make a difference.   


* * *

Stiles really hates it when Scott is right.    
  
He rushed to get ready, towels were falling and toast was burning. His big toe was jammed in the bathtub and shampoo got in his eyes. At least the kiss mark came off easy. In Stiles’ scorching-eyed opinion, he decided this is going to be one hell of a day. When he got dressed he bumped his elbow into the dresser. Stiles had to sit down and breath for a few minutes to calm down before he damaged himself any further.    
  
As calm Stiles can ever get, he looked at his phone and saw he miss read and actually had twenty minutes left before the meeting started. Stiles nearly brained himself on his phone. He got up, remade the toast while chugging down his meds. When his eyes started drooping from the crash of adrenaline he shrugged on his hoodie, grabbed his phone and duffle and headed out the door.    
  
Stiles hopped down the steps after closing the front door, idly whistling an off tune. Tossing the keys in the air and barely catching them, Stiles opened the jeep trunk and tossed his bag of herbs and knives in. Zipping it open for one last check that he has everything he closed the trunk. Walking around he pulled his phone out and opened the driver’s door. He checked the message Noah left him after he settled into his seat, Stiles went to look at the dashboard clock before noticing it was still broken from Scott smacking it in a fit of werewolf rage when they met up at one of the colleges Stiles was sightseeing. Stiles groaned and thumped his head on the steering wheel. He used his phone to check the time.    
  
Ten minutes before he’s considered late. Morning freakout wasn’t necessary after all.    
  
Just his luck.   
  
Pulling out his driveway after a quick surveillance of the street, Stiles hummed the tune he was making and passed the woods that had Caution tape wrapped around some trees. A young female was found there with her tongue ripped out, most of her ribs torn out with some snapped pieces inside and her heart nowhere to be found. From what his dad told him, there are possible werewolves in the area that are hiding their scent from the Hale pack.    
  
If only it was actually a werewolf. Even a werecoyote.   
  
Stiles turned onto Main street. Chris Argent’s pickup was parked at the station. So he is the last to arrive then. He squirmed in his seat, he was excited to finally meet the people that gave Scott a second chance at life instead of dying from an Omega attack. From what Scott’s told him, Chris is a bitten werewolf and the one he gets along with. He was a regular human, didn’t know about the supernatural until his soulmate turned out to be an Alpha. His father, ‘Gerard’ Stiles thinks, was actually a hunter and tried to kill Peter, but failed and was put in prison. Stiles pulled into his normal spot and got out, nearly snagging his sleeve into the door. He kicked a piece of loose asphalt around before getting his bag out the trunk. Kicking the rock into the sewer he opened up the doors to the station.    
  
Stiles looked up after fixing the hood from under the strap and grinned. Jordan, who was manning the front desk, looked back warily and a tad bit afraid.    
  
So his prank went just as plan then.   
  
“Deputy Pretty Eyes! It’s been awhile, huh?” Stiles did his imitation of a glide on the way to the front desk, fox smile and doe eyes focused on the hellhound. Jordan sagged in his chair resigned and eyed Stiles. He looked Stiles over with thin lips and a raised eyebrow.    
  
“Why do you insist on calling me that, Stiles? It’s been three years.” Jordan settled on after staring at Stiles for a few moments.  A glance down showed the front desk cluttered with lists of noise complaints and other petty annoyances, along with what units were where and why they were sent out. The small black hound he got Jordan as a Christmas gift two years ago was placed next to a cluster of phone cords. Next to that was a picture of Lydia and Jordan meeting for the first time that Stiles took. After he managed to stop laughing at them. Even the picture was able to show how bad Jordan was stumbling through words and Lydia silently laughing at him.    
  
Flashbacks of Jordan pulling Stiles aside to ask who his red-head friend is. Of Lydia seeing Jordan for the first time and declaring she wanted him. Lydia subtly questioning who Jordan is and when she gets to meet him. Jordan not-so-subtly doing the same. Lydia calling him Deputy Pretty Eyes, and Jordan stuttering his way through You’re Beautiful. Lydia getting her soulmark a few months ago and smiling the biggest, happiest, satisfied smile Stiles has ever seen her make when Jordan and her matched. All this passed through like him like crashing wave.   
  
It isn’t uncommon to meet your soulmate and creating a bond, or soulmates even though that’s frowned upon before both are of age. It mostly causes stress and nerves in the making. Or at least that’s what Stiles feels like would happen to him.   
  
Stiles dumped his bag off the desk. “Remembrance sake.”    
  
Jordan stared at him. Stiles stared back. “Your Dad is in his office with the Alphas. At least I’m assuming that’s why you’re here.” Jordan caved, he gave Stiles’ bag the side eye.    
  
Stiles grabbed his bag, turned, and stepped towards the office. “Stiles,” Jordan said, something in his voice had Stiles pause with resignation, “I know you’re mad at him, and I’m not defending him. But, just, don’t him a hard time. We didn’t know.”    
  
Stiles let out a long sigh. “I’ll try.” With that, he sent a salute in the direction Jordan was over his shoulder and headed to the Sheriff’s office. Stiles smirked at Jordan’s strained chuckle. As he got closer he could hear his dad’s voice arguing with one of the Alpha’s over what they think is causing the disturbance. Alpha thinks it’s a were with magic on their side. Dad suspects that or the pixies they had to deal with while Stiles was away.    
  
What.   
  
“What happened while I was gone that involved pixies? Dad, you promised you weren’t holding anything other than this back! What else is there?” Stiles seethed, his eyes burned with his power making an appearance. Three heads snapped to Stiles, two before the door hit the wall and one after. The two Alpha’s looked infinitely better than Stiles thought they’d look like in person. Yeah, he’s seen pictures of them from Scott, but they were always blurry or taken from a distance, especially in Peter’s case. Still, it’s not hard to admit they’re attractive. Going off of Scott’s description and pictures, Peter is the ‘satan in a v-neck’ with a goatee. He’s going to say Peter does look good in a v-neck, his facial hair more distinguishable than the pictures suggests. Chris’s graying beard and combat boots suited him well.    
  
Stiles is pulled out his inspection when both Alpha’s took a deep breath, froze and flashed Alpha eyes at him. They stalked towards him in measured steps behind Noah’s back.   
  
He was half tempted to back out the room, pride be damned, when a hand clamped on his shoulder.  Noah brought him into a gripping hug that he gave back without pause, even if he was beyond pissed at him. He could still see Peter and Chris over his dad’s shoulder and they keep eyes on him. Chris is flickering from him to Peter while Peter looks at him like he’s looking at the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten.    
  
Stiles is starting to understand why Scott feels like Peter is gonna murder them all.    
  
A jarring pat on his back brings Stiles back to the present and jerked into Noah with a grunt. “I know I should've told you earlier son, but you would have come home and not finished visiting the colleges. Harvard deserved a look.” The Sheriff pulled back gave Stiles a warm, bashful smile. “We handled it, Stiles. Well, until we figure out what’s going on we’ll get back to that.” The Sheriff turned towards Chris, just missing him unwolf, and tugged Stiles forward. He squeezed his hand. Stiles squeezed back.   
  
“Stiles this is Chris, the one I can tolerate.” Chris gave him a twitch of a smile before reaching his hand out to take Stiles’.  Stiles shook his hand and hummed with furrowed brows when a heat wave passed through them. His dad didn’t notice the perplexed look on Stiles’ face, already turning him to Peter. Who looked like was about to eat him. “And that’s Peter, the one I want to shoot. Don’t trust a word he says.” Peter didn’t have the decency to look appalled at that. When Stiles clasped hands with him he got the same heat rush. Stiles stared at Peter while he looked at Chris. A silent conversation with arching eyebrows and vague facial twitches went between them.    
  
Peter looked at the Sheriff and said, “I still think it’s another were, Noah.”    
  
Noah narrow his eyes. “We need more proof than your nose, Peter, if you can only think it’s a were.” Noah went over to the bullet board half-way covered in notes and pictures from scenes. He either didn’t care about Peter holding his son’s hand or is choosing to wait until later to question it. Stiles is not looking forward to that potential conversation so he attempted to pull his hand away. Attempted, being Peter refused to let go of his hand, instead, he turned it over and pushed his sleeve away to look at the skin of his right wrist. His grip changed to rest underneath the mark.   
Within a month of your eighteenth birthday, your soulmark gradually outlines and fills out until completing on your birthday. Stiles only has two weeks to go before his mark is finished, and it’s starting to look like a circle, he suspects it’s going to be the moon, given his life - why not have a werewolf as a soulmate, he suspects full judging by the light coloring inside. It looks a little on the silver side. Like its going to look like a badass silvery scar. Around it is pink, haggard pinpricks, he would say they were stars but they looked more like lightening bolts. Stiles amuses himself to think it’s for his eccentric personality.   
  
“Stiles.”   
  
“Huh, uh, yeah Pops?” Stiles stuttered as he jerked around to the Sheriff, Peter has yet to let him go, though he did move with him to not have Stiles’ arm at an uncomfortable angle.   
  
Noah gave them a once over again before his lips twitched and his shoulders jerked like he was holding back a laugh. Maybe Stiles does want that conversation. Stiles jerked his arm again and Peter finally let go, only after Chris snapped, “Peter.” Stiles rubbed his wrist that started to ache and looked down to see a hand print slowly coloring into his skin. While Stiles has a fixation on bruises, he doesn’t need them on obvious parts of his body and by someone, he isn’t sure is trustworthy.   
  
He sneered over his shoulder and walked up to the board. There have been nine incidents already and even Beacon Hills can only turn a blind eye for so long before the people start getting antsy. All had their hearts taken, but the only one with their tongue ripped out is the recent one. Stiles suspects it’s because of how close the attack was to the road and the kid was making too much noise. Stiles shivered as he heard phantom screams and saw flashing images of what the kid saw before dying.   
  
They thing crouching over them too dark and distorted to get a good visual. The girl was begging, pleading, screaming for it to stop. Stiles rubbed against his throat when he felt and saw the thing reach into her throat rip her tongue out. She choked on her blood while the creature tore her chest open. After that, it was over.   
  
He really hates his out-of-body experiences, maybe this is why his dad didn’t tell him yet. It’s a sensitive ability that only recently popped up. Nemeton rituals and dream sharing.   
  
He plucked the third attack photo off and ran a finger over where there was an inky shadow on the ground. It had pointed ends all over and had lines cutting through the body where daylight shined. Smoke swirled out Stiles’ palm. He slowly eased into the photo. Bringing his fingers closer, and ignored Chris that decided to lean over his shoulder to get a better look. Nothing happened until Stiles caressed it. The shadow rippled like a rock plunging into water, lengthened claws swiped and sliced him. He jerked his hand away out the photo if any of his blood got set into the photo a whole different problem would have started. Chris grunted and stepped away, rubbing his chest where Stiles elbowed him. Stiles held back a scoff, like that even hurt him. He turned the bag left by the door. He paused. Turning on his heels he saw it residing on the table. Stiles studied Noah, scrunched face skeptical with thin lips at the sight of Stiles’ blood.    
  
Pulling a few glass plates out he squeezed his hand until a steady stream fell on it. Then he grabs some paste he made; a combination of calendula, comfrey, yarrow and lavender oil.  Stiles inspected the five claw marks, it was only bleeding it random areas now and it wasn’t deep so Stiles didn’t feel the need to stitch anything and slathered some paste on. After he wrapped his hand up in a cluster of white bandages he turned towards everyone. Noah had put the picture back on the board and blocked the way. Stiles rolled his eyes at him.    
  
“I’m pretty sure it’s a Lamia.” Stiles started. He paused to see if anyone would ask questions or show any sign of knowing what he was talking about. Getting nothing but looks of confusion from Chris and Peter, Noah rubbing his hands on his face, he continued. “Only the recent attack has their tongue ripped out, which, gross. I never want to see anything like that again. Thanks for the oncoming nightmares, Dad. And from what I’ve read in the bestiary, they only eat the heart so maybe she was being too loud and being close to the road it ripped her tongue out? There isn’t anything about how intelligent they are, there are stories of them being the new children of the Queen of Libya, whose name was Lamia. After being turned into a half serpent and eating children after she lost hers, she was still half mortal. So if it is a Lamia let’s assume it’s decently smart to think that far along to not cause attention.”    
  
Stiles pulled his blessed silver knife, both Peter and Chris eyed him for, rosemary, and salt. “So there’s two ways to kill it. One,” Stiles picked up the knife, “is to stab it with a silver knife blessed by a priest. I’d go for the head or heart. The second,” Stiles gestured with the knife to the herb and salt, “and more troublesome, is to first smother it in rosemary then salt. And then light the bastard on fire.”   
  
Stiles set the knife down when Peter and Chris refused to look away from it. It’s not like silver is a weakness to them. Harmful - yes, but not a weakness. “So what now Pops?”    
  
Noah moved his hands down his face. “Well, you’re going to go home before you cause any more damage to yourself, jesus kid you’ve been back for what? Two hours? And we’ll read up on what more we can find, and then meet up in a couple days. Sound good, Alpha Hale and Argent?” Peter looked at Chris from the corner of his eye and shrug. Chris closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.   
  
“Sounds like a plan, Noah. We need to inform our pack of what needs to be done.” Stiles had to snort at that, Peter looked bemused. He gazed at Stiles with a raised eyebrow and tilted head, Stiles grinned like the cheshire cat.    
  
Stiles started packing his tools away. “In case you forgot Scott in your pack. He’s got one of the most black-and-white moral codes out there. And he’s a hypocrite. You have to of noticed. All this is gonna do is him complaining to me and begging to find a way around death and more towards helping them change their way.” Stiles zipped up the bag and slung it on his left shoulder. “So if you could, maybe wait until I’ve scavenged every piece of information out there to make him realize there’s nothing he can do?” He looked back and forth at Peter’s calculating eyes and Chris’s resigned smile.   
  
“Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have more information,” Chris said on his way to the door. “But we can tell them what you think it is, right?” Stiles agreed and said as much. Peter gave Stiles a once over, he barely contained his grimace at Stiles’ flannel. Stiles glared, he crossed his arms over his chest the best he could with a bag weighing him down and pouted.   
  
“Alright kid, I’ll see you at home, I got some paperwork to do with this mess. Drive safe, and don’t abuse your adderall.” Stiles scrunched his nose and huffed at his Dad, but agreed and left with waves to the deputies that caught his eye. He scoffed at Jordan’s attempt to hide behind his work. When he got outside he saw Peter and Chris arguing next to his jeep. He wondered if they knew that was his jeep and waited for him to come out, or if he managed to park next to them on accident. Then smacked his forehead because, werewolves. They can smell it’s his car.   
  
Walking past them, he ignored them straightening up and staring at him. Well if this isn’t some children of the corn shit. Stiles waved at them. Peter waved back, amused smile relaxing his face by years. Chris knocked his hand down and bared his teeth in the shape of a smile.   
  
Stiles pursed his lips. Weirdos.   
  
Tossing his bag in he hopped into Roscoe. The hair at his nape stood seconds before a hand touched the driver side door. Stiles snickered when he heard a hiss of fuck and twisted in his seat to watch Peter shake his hand where a fading burn mark resided. Peter glared at him like it was his fault for touching a magic beings property without permission and getting punished for it. “Drama queen,” Stiles scoffed shaking his head. He started the jeep with a murmur of encouragement and pat to the dashboard. Stiles settled back with his arm hanging out the door. “Is there something I can do for you? Or are you going to keep pouting, Alpha?”    
  
Peter watched him for a few moments with his healed hand behind his back. “I was going to ask if you would like to exchange numbers, in case you find something we may need to know urgently.” Peter inspected his now healed hand with disdain. “But now I’m not sure I want to bother you.”    
  
“Not my fault you didn’t think of wards.” Stiles pointed out with a smirk. He held his hand out. Peter placed his phone in his hand, Stiles almost laughed when Peter made sure not to touch him. He guesses his scent gave him away if the look Peter shot him was any hint. He programmed his number and name into the phone, sent a message to himself, and gave it back. Chris was standing next to Peter now with a calm face, but his eyes were bright with mirth when he looked at Peter.    
  
For a second Stiles had the vision of Chris looking at him like that while Peter laughed loudly beside them. He flushed and moved away from them.   
  
“Well. I’ll see you around wolves.” He pulled out his spot when the Alpha’s moved away. With a wave Stiles left the station. Crimson eyes followed him until he couldn’t be seen.    


* * *

Rolling out of bed this morning with a werewolf barnacle clinging to him with demands of more sleep, Chris didn’t expect to meet their third half. He has an inkling of an idea of why Noah didn’t let them meet Stiles until now. Today cemented the idea when Peter couldn’t keep his eyes off the boy and marking him as much as he could. The man probably figured it out when they showed up to his house where the lingering scent of home and smoke first thing after getting to town. And showing up for no good reason in the following months. Scott had the same lingering scent on him that made Chris give him the bite other than trying to save the kids life.    
  
“I wonder how long Noah was holding out on us.” Peter mused after Stiles couldn’t be seen anymore.   
  
“You know damn well how long Noah hasn’t let us meet Stiles until now Peter. And why.” Chris says rolling his eyes. Chris stepping close to Stiles while he did magic to protect him, well, Noah had a few choice emotions he made clear to that. Chris admits them scenting around Noah the first time they met him, he thinks Stiles left that same day. His scent was clinging hard to Noah. “We are leaving this be until he’s of age, Peter.”   
  
He’d say Noah’s reasoning was the way triads are handled. Triads are seen as an insult. Or as unfair. At one point the youngest, or the one that went into the bond last, are taken away to be inspected and get their mark taken off. Usually by death or a lost limb. Chris will forever be grateful that type of treatment hasn’t existed in centuries so he wouldn’t have to go through that hell. Society today still has rallies and other nonsense trying to have a say in someone else's life that they don’t know or care to know, only their sacred beliefs. Peter held his hand when his distress and annoyance clogged up the car.   
  
He pulled his phone out to check if everyone had made it to the pack house. Chris looked to Peter. He had his blank mask on that mostly hides what he’s thinking, his posture was relaxed with his head tilted. Fingers tapped against Chris’ hand. He squeezed Peter’s hand. He looked at Chris with dull blood eyes and a fanged smile. Sometimes Chris wishes he wasn’t a drama queen and actually said what he was thinking. Sometimes it’s a relief.    
  
Chris hopes Scott doesn’t manage to have an asthma attack from the news. The boy thinks everyone can change and is worth saving when they have been beaten down enough. If only the world were that easy. He hopes Lydia can handle him until Stiles comes along. His wolf rumbled and urged him to give Stiles at least proper scent marking. The most would be to take Stiles and huddle them all onto the bed for a few weeks and do whatever Stiles wanted. Except go home. Or leave.   
  
The truck door creek opened on rusted bolts and slid in. Peter followed seconds after, last time he took too long Chris left him behind. He wasn’t happy about a hundred mile hike. Werewolf or human, that is a long ass walk.    
  
Peter fiddled with the controls looking for a station. Although he has every station memorized, he’s made a habit of twirling the tuner. Peter settled when the beginning of Hurt flowed out the speakers. Peter hummed along and tapped the tune on the hump. Chris ignored the holes Peter was drilling into the side of his face and turned onto the gravel road home. “We don’t know when his birthday is. Do you think I’m going to sit like a waiting duck, darling?”    
  
Chris breathed out through his nose, “You saw his mark. I’d say no less than a month.” Chris gripped the steering wheel tight until it groaned. “The boy is Allison and Malia’s age Peter.” He let a long sigh from his mouth. “We know he’s Scott and Lydia’s Stiles. He’s going to be around long enough to get to know him before he’s eighteen. They talk about him enough you’d think they would’ve mentioned his birthday.”    
  
Peter nodded. “He is young, but we already knew he was going to be young Chris.” Chris had nothing to say to that. “Oh look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” He drawled when they saw Scott sitting on the porch steps with the others. It’s a good thing their cars are soundproof. The last thing they need is an argument. The pack headed inside, Derek at the door waiting for them. At least questions won’t start until inside this time, Chris thought grimacing. The pixies from last month really were something.    
  
Walking into the house multiple pairs of eyes watched them. The pack is split, the original Hale pack is resting on the couches. The new members stood around the room, all tense and waiting for a fight.   
  
“What did Stiles say?” Erica demanded, her eyes narrow and back straight. Boyd and Isaac stood close to her, keeping their backs to the wall. Liam looked lost but followed their lead. Lydia and Scott both turned to face them. Seems like Stiles knows more people in this pack then they thought.    


* * *

“C’mon Scott, pick up.” Stiles tapped his foot to the beat of Icarus. He groaned at the voicemail tone and tossed the phone into the passenger seat. He doesn’t know why he’s trying right now, Scott’s probably at a meeting with his pack. He pushed his hips forward until his head disappeared from the car windows and was halfway under the steering wheel. Scowling at the stained roof he thought back to the Alphas.   
  
Stiles has met about fifty Alphas since he was ten. The most memorable ones were Ennis, the bald brute that helped him play pranks on Jackson and patched him up when Stiles couldn’t fight back or he’d put people in danger when Ennis came to visit. Kali and her emissary Julia, both of them helped with his spark, mostly Julia he sneered at the memory of her. And taught him the meaning of letting loose and think for himself sometimes, mostly Kali. And how to protect himself from anybody that wouldn’t take no for an answer. Stiles snorted when he remembered his Dad’s face at hearing Kali instruct Stiles on ripping a man’s balls off.   
  
And then there’s Deucalion.    
  
Deucalion provided him with books and herbs, clothes and food, basically, anything that could enhance his studies or make feel comfortable. A shoulder to cry on when his mom forgot him and tried to kill him. When she chased him out the room with needles. He remembers the whispers about how close they were for him being so young and impressionable. Perfect age for grooming. Even with Stiles having superior strength, people still found the need to paint Deucalion in disgusting lights. Maybe it was because he murdered his pack after they turned on him for going partially blind. The man was blamed for something he didn’t know would happen. Stiles guesses it started when Deucalion grew enamored with him for constantly defending him and not speaking to him like a wounded animal, among other things.    
  
He really should call him for his input on the situation and check in. Thinking about him, Stiles realized there really was someone always on his side. Stiles wonders how that will it would go down now that Beacon Hills has a wolf pack here if Deuc ever came to visit. He wonders if Noah told them they don’t own the territory. This has been the Bezgraniczny coven territory for decades. If he didn’t that is going to be a fun conversation.    
  
When Stiles got out the car Mrs.Rickens, an ebony woman that has a thing for large sun hats, from next door was watering her plants while talking to her great dane, Erebos. A few months before he left they moved in and renovated the place. Nothing really pings in his senses that she was something to look out for, but something wasn’t right about them. If they end up being the murderers he’s gonna be done with the world. Move in next to be the biggest threat and play sheep and not cause attention. Mrs. Rickens stopped talking to Erebos to stare at him while he walked up the drive and into the house, that didn’t help their case.   
  
Dumping the bag at his feet he kicked off shoes in the direction of the shoe rack and made his way to the kitchen. Pulling out a coke from the fridge he turned an eye on the pile of dishes while popping the lid and taking a gulp. It’s not as bad as it could be, the whole place isn’t as bad as it could be. Noah has gotten better with sleeping at home instead of the station after Stiles begged him to do that for him while he was away, but this case needs utmost attention, so there goes that small victory.    
  
Stiles trailed his fingers on the railing on his way up the stairs. He frowned and  wiped his dust covered fingers on his pants. Looks like spring cleaning is coming early. Checking his hand in the bathroom to see if the paste healed it, he patted himself on the back. It was fully healed and took around thirty minutes. After that he faces planted in his bed after putting the coke on his desk, making mental preparations for what else he needs to look up and when to get ahold of Peter. Pulling his sheets over his head he snuggled into his nest and was asleep in minutes.    


* * *

Twigs snapped under his feet. Crows cawed and fluttering in the trees. The moon streamed in the cracks of branches leaving jagged, pale, slivers on the ground. Chanting was deeper in the woods, the closer he got the more it clothed him like a shroud, it was hundreds of voices coming together to form one, shrilly cries and pleas drowned in between. The air is filled with electric currents meant to ward off anyone, anything, coming to interrupt. He slipped through branches and bushes, each wayward stick snagged his clothes, but not holding him back. As a warning. A warning Stiles has ignored every time he comes here.   
  
Every step closer made his legs feel like boulders that fought him the whole way. Try to keep him from seeing things he’s seen hundreds of times already. Stiles questions why he still comes out of the woods to watch what happens from other’s perspective. First was his dad, next was Jordan, then was Deucalion, Alan was after him, Ennis was a surprise but he came to, and so on with various deputies and members of his coven. He wonders who's next, or if he’s going through this as an out of body experience and seeing from his eyes. He looks at his clothes instead of hearing the same voices that have haunted him the past months. He’s wearing his old hiking boots that he never got back after he was kidnapped, jeans ripped at the knee from tripping on rock paths, red and black flannel and white t-shirt combo, shirt bloodied neck-down from getting stabbed in the neck.   
  
So he is viewing this from his own body then.    
  
At least all the emotions he feels are his own.   
  
Breaking the bushes, he steps foot in the clearing he wishes he never has to return to in the real world. He leans against the closest tree and relaxes against it. It’s gonna be awhile.    
  
Wolves manipulated by their emissaries stood side by side with them. All stood in a circle around Stiles from before, laid out in torn clothes on the nemeton and chain down with posts. He’s glad he wasn’t chained down in a star formation, it already looks like a D rated movie from an outsider's view in real life. Words and symbols were carved into his skin already, blood a steady trickle out of every slice. Before-Stiles’ eyes weren’t blindfolded, he saw everything. Emissaries sneered and whispered lies to their Alphas that wouldn’t blimp their hearts from years of practice. One emissary, Julia, who had the air of an impending Darach, walked around to kneel by his head and coo fake reassurances.    
  
Before-Stiles sobbed and twisted away from the women that tried to groom him for this moment. That what they were doing was right, that is was their duty to bring balance in a world that wasn’t ready for a Spark. After-Stiles rolls his eyes hard enough to get a headache, the bitch always had a thing for dramatics. If this night was a success, she would’ve been alive and feared by all. Everyone else in this clearing would be dead where they stand.   
  
He’s grown immune to this scene. He just wants it behind him.    
  
She raises the knife high over her head and shouts pleads and words of mercy to the gods she believes in. To take this virgin bride as a sacrifice for the power he holds. Emissaries from all over the world join in and the wolves stand at ready to protect them while they are most vulnerable, leaving themselves open for attack. As Julia goes to plunge the knife in his chest and carve it out, After-Stiles watches as a silent bullets glides in the air. It sinks into Julia’s head. Blood and brain matter gush out onto the nemeton. It forms a pseudo-halo Before-Stiles, After-Stiles always wants to vomit at that scene. Noah and his deputies step out the tree line with guns raised and shooting, they are only leaving one person alive to tell what happened here, and that’s Stiles.    
  
The Bezgraniczny coven emerged from the wolves shadows. They shoot out anything they could to get his potential murderers away. Deucalion and Ennis were fully fanged and tearing into people left and right. Kali stood in the background, fidgeting, not knowing what to do. She ultimately starting killing the wolves to get to him and pushed the pain of her emissary and wife almost killing him and dying instead. He hopes one day she can talk to him without the knowledge he’s the reason Julia went madder for power and died. After-Stiles shook in his worn out boots seeing Deucalion shed his human skin until a grotesque wolf form stood in his place, it brought people to their knees for forgiveness. Their condolences were accepted with their heads bitten off. When his dad reached Before-Stiles, After-Stiles has jerked away from the scene and into the real world.   


* * *

Waking up to sun stabbing in your eyes and getting whacked on the head isn't the best way to wake up. Especially from a dream of your almost deathbed. Stiles glared at his assailant with murder in his eyes and on his brain. Noah huffed at him and tossed the stack of folders on his chest.   
  
“I know you haven’t gotten much sleep kiddo. But we need to get a plan set up.”    
  
Stiles rolled over, mindful of the papers on him and looked at the clock. One hour passed. The groaned leaving his throat made him grimace, don’t do that while parched. Stiles is really considered leaving again with only a How to Kill book in his wake. Sitting up he inspects the folders, each barely held together and keeping papers inside. On second thought, Lydia might track him down and kill him for leaving her behind to deal with this. Stiles watched Noah leave the room through blurry eyes and gut clenching. They didn’t fight but with the tension in the air, he knew they were going to soon. After stretching and dumping the papers onto his desk he pulled bulletin boards out from under his bed. Red, yellow and green thread hung from pins Stiles forget to take off. It made an oddly pleasing picture.   
  
Over the years the case boards at the station slowly filled with more green than red as Stiles was allowed to have a say in the cases and research whether it was supernatural or not. Maybe that was around the time this gap between he and Noah started. Or maybe that happened when Claudia was in the hospital and Stiles was left on his own. He was only fourteen when he solved his first case. Nobody but the people at the station knew about Stiles’ involvement. But his dad still hated that his son was growing up and had no say in it. No longer had the right to have a say in it. First Stiles took on the coven than he was solving cases. Well, Stiles taking care of himself since he was six when Noah was too busy drowning in a bottle filled with sorrow might be the first. They don’t talk about time often.    
  
Stiles rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. Now is not the time for reevaluating his life.   
  
Running his fingers over the pictures and papers, he slowly and thoughtfully made visual copies of the reports. They traveled up his arm, curled around his chest to rest in the, thankfully unused, notebook Stiles had resting on his desk. Seeing bloody and graphic pictures travel across his body like a beetle from The Mummy made him shiver and gagged. It is too early to think about something eating him from inside out.  It went by fairly fast considering how many folders there were. Unsolved cases and no leads can do that to an investigation.    
  
Afterward, he took his time pining everything about the victims on one board after taking the strings off, inspecting the pictures for more distorted shadows as he went. Then he put everything he knew about Lamias on the second board. He gulped down some more coke, still cold and thankfully not flat, and got to work on more research. It was gonna be a long day. He shoved and pushed clothes out the way and yanked open the trunk in the back of his closet. He pulled the Stilinski Bestiary out with a grunt and wobbly knees threatening to give out. Its duty is to keep people other than Stilinski’s from reading inside. So it makes itself either heavy or burns people. Along with causing people nightmares and putting thoughts into your head, and other things. Stiles has an inkling it’s mad at him for leaving it behind.    
  
Stiles stroked the cover with gentle fingertips, pushing as much comfort and intent into the caress, “I know you’re mad, but people are in dying Beast and I’m in charge of killing the thing responsible. Dad could be in danger soon and I need to find more information. Can you let me in long enough to find what I’m looking for? I’ll give you more information on Selkies. I know you’re dying to know more about. And you’ll be the first to know.” Just like that, the book was opening before him and flipping pages waiting for directions. Stiles grinned and mentally and physically patted himself on the back. “I need Lamias, Beast. Scotty’s gonna want to ask them to leave,” he rolls his eyes, “so we need solid, bulletproof information on it being hostile and bloodthirsty.” Stiles paused and thought about what he just said.    
  
“So we need information on a livid Lydia, fantastic.”    
  
The book settled on a relatively undamaged page, seems like Lamias aren’t a big problem for Stilinski’s. Skimming the pages he’s not surprised to see that they don’t have a definite shape, just a black spindly body with long claws. Like that isn’t straight out of a movie. Stiles paused after reading that. He spun over to the victim board and found the picture from earlier with the jagged shadows in it. His dried blood was resting at the bottom of the polaroid. On closer inspection, it does look like the Lamia drawing Beast. Skimming the little information he didn’t know didn’t say anything about it phasing into things, but that could explain why the thing doesn’t have a shape and looks like a shitty slenderman costume gone wrong and was left abandoned on the floor. It melts into the shadows.    
  
Stiles fumbled for his phone and tapped until he got to the number he didn’t program yet and shoved it to rest between his shoulder and ear. It rang long enough for Stiles to think he should call someone else when, “Stiles, why are you calling Peter? You should’ve called me,” answered him. He grinned.   
  
“Well if you must know the light of my life, the apple of my eye, I had no idea if you were going to be with him and I need to run some info by him.” Stiles snickered with glee at Lydia’s fond, exasperated huff. There was muffled movement in the background, a grunt that was recognizably male, then a faraway growl. “Lydia, are you fighting Peter for his phone?” Stiles snickered again at the image of a short redhead, no matter how much Lydia protests, she’s a redhead, in heels fighting over a phone of an Alpha werewolf that’s several inches taller than her and most likely winning.    
  
Because if there’s one thing anyone can agree on even from only meeting Lydia Martin. Is that if the matter isn’t life or death, doesn’t make you uncomfortable or if something is not something you agree with. You usually let her win.   
  
She sniffed statically into the phone. “As if I need to fight for something so trivial.” A shout of protest deafened his ear. He yanked the phone away with a hiss and rubbed his ear. He brought the phone back up to his ear and furrowed his brows at only hearing deep breathing on the other end. He pulled the phone away and rolled his eyes when he saw he muted it and brought it back to his ear after undoing mute.   
  
“Based on the heavy breathing, I’m gonna say this is Peter and you won your phone back?” Stiles questioned as he picked up a pen and spun it around his fingers. He looked at the board again.   
  
“You’d be right, little inferno.” Peter purred lecherously. Stiles can picture the smirk on Peter’s face.   
  
“Who are you calling little, wolf? I’ll have you know I’m an unmovable inferno on a good day. You don’t want to see me on my bad days.” He scoffed into the phone and hoped he didn’t hear his heart flutter. Leaving the pen to float in the air, he walked over to Beast and picked it back up. Stiles cut off Peter’s answer, “So, I found next to nothing compared to what I already knew and told you. You might wanna put me on speaker, I can hear Lydia chasing you for the phone.” Returning to his place next to the boards he grabbed his pen and ran the capped tip around the drawing of the Lamia. Stiles has learned his lesson with accidentally drawing in the book, he never thought he’d had words crawling up his arms and staying there like a tattoo before. Having a detailed drawing of an incubus on his arm at ten was so not what he wanted his teacher to catch him with.   
  
He and his mother were already their lunch break gossip. He didn’t need any more fuel to that fire.    
  
A croaky throat clearing brought Stiles out his musing. “What else did you find, Stiles? They haven’t told us much, said you wanted more info before talking to us?” Scott, bless his heart and new status on the supernatural list, still sounded like an overexcited puppy. And you always feel like garbage raining on a puppy’s excitement.    
  
Stiles smiled at the various cheery ‘hellos’ from his classmates. Erica shouting at him to meet up for coffee and talk about hot college boys, Boyd’s jealous growl followed. He heard a few confused ‘heys’ in the mix. Must be the Hale pack members that came with Chris and Peter. He murmured his greetings before answering Scott. Pen still twirling away. “This is a lot of information Scotty, what did they tell you guys?”   
  
“Chris said you’re pretty certain it’s a Lamia and that they only take their victim's hearts. Those are Queen Lamia’s children, right? And that you don’t know what they look like or how dangerous they are.” Lydia supplied. Stiles will give them the fact the pack will want to know something telling them this much.    
  
Scott didn’t try to keep the distaste out of his words. “They said the most likely solution is going to be to kill it. And that you got attacked by a picture. But you found something, right?” Stiles floundered, pen left forgotten in the air again so he could run fingers through his hair. As much as he just wanted to peel this off like a band-aid that you’ve been dreading to rip off, he needs to talk to Peter and Chris first and run some test over. Scott would protest and haggle for him to come to his pack house would only lead to Stiles dragging his feet and refusing. He’s sure Lydia would understand why he doesn’t want to be around so many different werewolf people, not when werewolves are the part of the reason he almost died.   
  
“Actually Scott,” He began with a scrunched nose, “I just wanted to talk to Peter and Chris right now. Confirm what I know at the scene and run some tests before coming up with a plan.” Beast eased up its weight completely at hearing its master out of his depth. He patted the back cover in thanks. It ruffled its pages to caress his arm. Gotta love weird family heirlooms. “I don’t wanna hear any complaints. My dad isn’t the only one that withheld this from me until I got back so I can clean up the mess. Knowingly or not.” Stiles wanted to scoff at the cliche, ringing silence that followed.    
  
Are they all drama queens?    
  
It was Lydia that spoke up. “If that’s what you need to do Stiles, then do it. But. I am the first person you tell after Chris, Peter and your Dad. Got it?” Bless Lydia Martin and her soft spot for him. Scott grumbled and Erica whined but it was agreed that Stiles was to go check out the last murder spot and do his witchy voodoo thing, thanks for downplaying Isaac. You really know how to boost someone’s self-esteem. He inspected the pictures while the Hale pack left.    
  
“I’d ask how you know so many members of my pack, but they are high schoolers and it’s a small town. I can put two and two together.” Peter lead, his voice pitching weird in the middle from turning the speaker off.   
  
“Oh, can you?” Stiles wheedled before he could catch himself. His pen dropped from his hand as his focus went to blind mortification. It stopped an inch from the ground, he made a mental note to not step on it. The bestiary spasticity ruffled its pages in laughter. He swears everything, every person, every deity is out to get him and his lack of brain to mouth filter. Stiles cleared his throat and scowled at Peter laughing at him.    
  
“Yes, I can. Being a lawyer means I have to have some knowledge of things, Stiles.” Peter continued, composed. “When did you want to investigate? From what Scott said you’ve got here five hours ago? I’m there’s time for you to take a nap.” Stiles set the bestiary down and considered his options. On one hand, he can get some much-needed sleep with the excuse of Peter not wanting him to strain himself and Noah can’t get that mad at him. On the other hand, he can get this out the way and might pass out from exhaustion and Noah feels like shit for pushing him. Wouldn’t be the first time.   
  
“I can go right now as long as you promise not to kidnap me when I pass out in your back seat. I need to pack up my shit, when can you pick me up?” Stiles flipped through his copied information and inspected the mirrored shadow picture. He and Peter talked for a few more moments, traded barbs as he cleaned up and took out a few herbs and to hide their scents in case the Lamia is still around, agreed to meet up at his house in half an hour and hung up. He traced the picture on the page and tried to push through. He couldn’t.    
  
Pursing his lips he made a split second decision and grabbed his camera and the original picture. He has a feeling he’s gonna need it. He changed his clothes, they were starting to smell bad to him, he doesn’t want to know how bad they smelled to a werewolf. He shoved hiking boots on and jogged down the stairs. Shoving everything in his bag, he checked his phone. ‘Just left.’   
  
“Leaving so soon?” Stiles tensed and shot his magic out to analyze the threat. And promptly felt like an idiot when he realized it was his dad. God, how out of it is he that he didn’t recognize his dad? Noah was leaning against the banister, arms folded across his chest and an eyebrow raised. His police uniform was replaced with well-worn flannel, sleep pants, slippers that have seen better days, and an old police academy shirt. Reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked the picture-perfect suburban dad behind doors.    
  
Stiles stalled answering by pulling his cloaking jacket off the hook and shimmed it on. “Uh, I’m going out with Peter and Chris to investigate?”    
  
“Is that a question or a statement?”    
  
“Both?” Stiles tried. He had his bag over his shoulder and twirling his house keys around a finger.   
  
Noah closed his eyes and sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “Are they making you go out? I know I asked you to get started but I didn’t think you’d leave the house.” After you just got back. Fuck him and telepathy. Noah’s wince and step back was enough for Stiles to know he didn’t mean to broadcast that. Stiles bit his lip and weighed his options again. Hug it out with his dad and leave right after. Or, leave and let this fester without any chance of it getting resolved without a screaming match. Dropping his bag he bear-hugged his dad. Noah gradually relaxed and hugged him like he did at the station. They stood there until a car honked outside and his feet ached from standing in place too long.    
  
He picked his bag up. “They’re not making me, Dad. I’m actually making them take me. They’re like a chill you, which I did not need to think of, I’m going before I say anymore sleep deprived thoughts.” Noah caught his jacket with his foot out the door. Noah opened and closed his mouth a few times. Settled on kissing his cheek and ruffling his bed head.    
  
“Be safe.”    
  
Stiles’ smile was wild, his amber eyes glinting radiant power. “I’m going to be.”   
  
Hopping down the steps like earlier he walked over to the car and ignored Erebos watching his every move. He shuffled in his clothes, he fought the urge to pull his hoodie down to cover his pants. With their eyes watching his every move, he felt like his fly was down. God, he hated walking in front of cars. The locks snapped up when his hand grabbed the handle and locked after he opened the door. Stiles glared at Peter who looked everywhere but at him. Chris waited until he was seated and comfortable before pulling out the drive.    
  
“Got everything you need? The bag looks pretty big.” Chris said, looking at him from the rearview mirror. The sun passed through and light his eyes like glaciers. Stiles looked away with a wince, he paid attention to the houses that he grew up tramping on the yards. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence moved away while he was gone, replaced with a family of five and an overexcited dog. Scott told him about how it would find his pack on full moons and try run with them. Maybe that dog is a Lamia.   
  
“Yeah, I got everything I need. Know where we’re going?” Stiles leaned forward with forearms braced on the front seats. Chris looked at Peter remaining silent. Peter smirked, police report in his hand. Ah, okay. “Got anything my dad didn’t show me? Any info on the pixie attack that I wasn’t told about? Anything else I’ve been lied to when I was told everything was okay?” Peter fixed him with an indulgent smile.   
  
“I see your hand is all healed, must be some paste. I believe your father should be the one to tell you that. If you must know, nobody died. Many civilians asked questions that they decided they didn’t want answers to. If it weren’t for Alan,” Peter rolled his eyes, Stiles had to agree with him on that, bastard never tells anyone anything, “we wouldn’t have been able to make a treaty that put us in the right and them in the wrong.” Stiles leaned forward and messed with the controls until Howling came on. Peter side-eyed him when he hummed along to the beat.    
  
“Hey, we lost track of the wolf sound howling, away, close enough to make you stay awake.” Stiles softly sang along. He didn’t notice until the Alphas relaxed that they were tense, shoulders dropping as he sang along. Stiles sang with fingers tapping the beat until the song ended, by then they were pulling up to the Caution tape. Chris dug around in the hump and pulled out a police warrant. They stepped out as one but shut their doors at different times. Stiles winced at his noticeably loud bang. He grinned sheepishly at them, “Whoops?” he tried. Chris shook his head and started down the path, Peter waiting for Stiles to catch up. He blinked when something tugged at the bag strap. He watched Peter take his bag and heft it onto his shoulder.    
  
Peter huffed a laugh at his gobsmacked expression. Sweeping a hand and moving aside he said, “After you.” Stiles was dumbfounded enough to let the wolf at his back. Halfway down he shook his head and told himself to get a grip. He has people to protect and his dad is relying on him, he mentally put on his big boy pants. He pushed the tape out of his way.   
  
Time to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This will be slow to update. Let me know if there are any tags that need to be added. Let me know what you think.


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